


Hanging By A Single Stitch

by Berty



Series: Private Universe [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cabin Fic, Disability, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 02:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14274918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: I suppose it was only a mater of time.You’ve been here three months and they’ve been pretty good. I thought you’d seemed to settle in fairly well to our new life.Guess I was wrong about that.A prequel to the Private Universe... Universe! And I think you need to have read those if this one is going to make any sense. A PU version of how Jack got that scar.





	Hanging By A Single Stitch

I must have had an inkling that it would be today, because I turned back early. As I begin to descend the track toward the cabin, I know there’s something very wrong. Already I can hear noises; not the usual sounds of your music, or the rhythmic thud of chopping wood, but crashing, tearing and a sickening bellowing. 

I run.

Already I’m scanning the scene, dodging from cover to cover. No cars, no sign of others and the door is still shut. I always carry when I’m in the woods, partly out of habit, but especially at this time of year when the bears are newly awake. The cold weight of the pistol in my hand is both reassuring and strangely unfamiliar now. I wonder briefly whether a bear is to blame from the horrific noise coming from inside but bears are not known for politely closing the door behind them when they call by. 

There’s a lull in the destruction and I use it to cross the open ground between the woods and the porch, flatten myself against the wall of the cabin and take a fast glance through the window. 

I see you, kneeling in the wreckage of our living space. You’re alone and in an instant I know why this has happened. That bear I’d feared seems by far the better option now as a guttural sob rips through you. And another. And another. 

I click the safety and slide the pistol away, then walk to the door and push it open but you don’t hear me. Clutching your ribs, you’re bent over with your back to the door. There are books everywhere, flopped obscenely open like fallen birds, their spines broken. Most of them are ripped in some way. Some are torn clean in half. On the floor there is shattered glass from the mirror that used to hang by the door. The glinting shards are mixed with broken ceramic, metal and plastic, at least some of which used to be our satellite phone and your glasses.

I suppose it was only a mater of time.

You’ve been here three months and they’ve been pretty good. I thought you’d seemed to settle in fairly well to our new life. 

Guess I was wrong about that.

I’ve only just begun to leave you alone for any length of time. I’m a pretty private guy myself, and I knew having me hanging around 24/7 would be pissing you off. I admit that the first few times I only hiked far enough so you couldn’t see me anymore, but I kept the cabin in view. I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I wouldn’t have stopped you if you’d tried to leave. 

I’m not your keeper.

Do you understand that?

Then I notice the bloodstains – on the pages, on the floor; smears not pools but it’s enough to make me take an involuntary step towards you. 

“Daniel,” I say, stupidly.

Immediately you’re silent. Your shoulders hunch further still, as if you’re expecting a blow. 

I need to see where you’re bleeding and, like an idiot, I cross the room and put a hand on the back of your neck.

That’s when you hit me.

The first time.

Like a reflex you swing back with your arm, trying to dislodge me, but I’m crouched over and you have a book in your fist. You catch me in the forehead above my eye, a dull but heavy blow. I’m stunned for a second, and I jump back, blinking at you. For a moment you look stunned too, your mouth in a comical “o” of surprise. 

You look terrible. Your eyelashes are spiked with tears; your face is blotchy and pale. Your shirt is smeared with blood and I can see now that it’s your hands and forearms that are cut in several places. Nothing severe, just messy. I’m guessing that was the mirror.

We stare at one another stupidly for a long moment and then you spring at me. Instinctively I reach out to catch you, but as your hands smack me square in the chest I realise that’s not your intention. I stagger back, unbalanced and you’re on me. Blow after blow. You’re too distraught to be very coordinated about this, but man, are you strong. You’re going for all the vulnerable places, like I taught you; the eyes, the throat, the kidneys and the groin. But you’re leaving yourself wide open should I choose to retaliate.

I don’t.

Mostly I just try to protect myself. God knows, I don’t want to hurt you, but you just keep coming. You get in a few lucky punches; my ribs, my jaw, and I realise I’m being driven back into a corner where I’ll have less opportunity to evade you. I know I need to act now for both our sakes, so I sweep your feet, grabbing you as you go down to slow the fall. Even then you don’t stop, struggling to connect your fists or feet with any unprotected part of me so I make sure I land on top of you, using my weight to pin you.

You growl and thrash, trying to throw me off, but I hold on with all I’ve got. I can’t let you do this to me or to yourself. So I start to talk to you.

Stupid really. It’s probably exactly how this thing started, with you pulling random books off the shelves, searching for one word that made sense to you, for one sequence of letters that made a connection in your brain and allowed you to understand. 

At first you struggle harder as the words pour out of my mouth uncensored. I don’t even know what I’m saying – whatever comes into my head, I guess. How strong you’ve been, how brave you are, how sorry I am. I keep my voice low and reassuring, almost singing, as I tell you all the things I wish I’d said before you went away, all the things I long to tell you now and slowly, slowly you calm. It takes longer still for you to look at me, your eyes dropping unerringly to my mouth, watching me speak. The utter incomprehension in your expression and the yearning behind it finally stem the flow until I’m reduced to murmuring, over and over, “It’s okay, Daniel. It’ll be okay.”

And then you cry.

The sound comes from somewhere deep and broken, and you shudder in my arms as I try to hold you together. 

The sun is setting by the time I get us up off the floor, set us up on the couch and find the first-aid kit. It’s pretty well stocked in deference to how far out we live. You’re quiet while I clean your hands and arms. There’s one cut, deeper than the rest that makes me wince, but I put a couple of butterfly dressings on it and hope for the best. 

I begin to pack the unused items back into the bag, but you very slowly take it from my hands. You pull an anti-bacterial wipe from the pack, then reach up and begin to clean my forehead. I’m surprised to see it stained with shockingly bright, red blood. Another dressing is unpacked and you carefully angle it across my eyebrow, your hands gentle as you smooth it into place. 

Suddenly I ache everywhere, but nowhere as much as my heart. 

I know that’s a sorry and I know it wasn’t me you were beating on. I was just in the right place at the wrong time.

Your gaze darts away when I look at you and it takes me a minute to bow my head enough to make you catch my eye and hold it. 

“It will be okay, Daniel,” I tell you quietly and deliberately. “We’ll be okay.” 

And maybe my eyes can tell you what my lips can’t because you take a deep breath and come back to me with a small watery smile.

I might even be right; maybe we will be okay. Who knows? They’re only words after all. 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Title from another Crowded House Song. 
> 
> This tiny tale was inspired by and is dedicated to my lovely partners in crime, Saladscream and Pepe whose support and overall naughtiness make my day too often to count.


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